The Silver Ribbon
by Elfling1
Summary: It's Cinderella...Hogwarts style! Can Snape really win a princess' heart?
1. Fairy Godmother

Hello, my faithful fans! Readers! Worst enemies! Mere acquaintances! And so on and so forth.  
  
Everybody lately has managed to come up with cute disclaimers, like "I don't own these characters, but if J.K. Rowling wants to give them to me, that's okay," and things like that. I, unfortunately, am not as creative, so any suggestions for good disclaimers are welcome.  
  
Disclaimer: This is my plain, simple, boring disclaimer that none of the characters from Hogwarts (Snape, Lockhart, Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, the students, etc.) are mine. The people from the castle, however (Estelle, the king, Slimee, Smellington, etc.) are mine, so keep your quills off of them!  
  
ADVERTISING: If you like this, then you'll love my other fic, the "Your Own Blood Trio - Voldemort's Daughter" (my friends gag in the background) Okay, okay, but seriously, read my stuff. Please?  
  
And now we can finally get on to the story.  
  
  
  
"And an essay on Hair-lengthening Potions due Tuesday," finished Professor Severus Snape nastily. His black eyes glittered with malice. "No excuses this time, Longbottom," he spat. Neville trembled as the bell rang. The students hurried out, complaining about their homework load. When they were gone, Snape allowed himself a grim smile. Not bad, not bad at all. A round fifty points from Gryffindor. Another day like this and the House Cup had Slytherin's name on it.  
  
Still gloating, Snape flung open his office door and strode to his desk, only to stop dead at the sight of the roll of parchment upon it.  
  
Dragon's dung, he'd forgotten all about it.  
  
His good mood ruined, Snape kicked his desk vengefully. Why did the invitation bother him so much? He'd never been upset like this. Especially over something as infantile as a Princess' Ball. Snape picked up the invitation and unrolled it slowly.  
  
"Hear ye, hear ye," it read in elaborate, curly writing. "All eligible men are invited to attend the Princess Estelle of Agobia's Ball, which will be held from - " it went on and on. Snape crumpled it into a ball. No, some dinky little princess from a tiny country (Agobia? He'd never even heard of it) didn't bother him. It was Lockhart.  
  
After regaining his memory, the former celebrity had resumed his post at Hogwarts. Although a trifle more subdued than he had been, Lockhart had been quite himself when they had received their invitations.  
  
"Mark my words, it'll be a night for Estelle to remember," he had told Snape cheerfully in the hall yesterday.  
  
"What would she want with you?" Snape had snarled, sick to death of his co-worker's bragging. "She's only twenty-four! You're eighteen years older than her!"  
  
"Well," said Lockhart, looking miffed, "don't forget that you're an older man as well."  
  
"Better a ten year age difference than nearly twenty," he'd snapped back, a little too loudly. The students in the hall had stopped and stared. To Snape's horror, he had felt a red flush creeping up his neck.  
  
"Besides," he had hissed, "I'm not going."  
  
Lockhart had looked him up and down, taking in his greasy hair and rumpled black work robes. "No," he'd agreed amiably, "I didn't think so." And he'd sauntered off, leaving Snape fuming and wishing ferverently that they could start the dueling club again.  
  
Snape gritted his teeth and crumpled the invitation into a tiny ball. No, he hadn't wanted to go, but he did now. If only to show that simpering prat Lockhart that he COULD look good, given a bit of preparation time. He sat back for a few minutes, daydreaming -  
  
Severus Snape sauntered into the ballroom, all eyes upon him. The beautiful princess ran over and clasped his hand, her jewel-like eyes staring up adoringly into his.  
  
"Oh, Severus," she whispered, "I've been waiting for you all my life."  
  
"Hey, what about me?" whined Lockhart, trying to push his way in.  
  
"Get a life, loser," she snarled at him.  
  
"Allow me," said Snape, pulling out his wand and blasting Lockhart to the opposite wall. The crowd applauded wildly as Snape bent to kiss the princess -  
  
A resounding knock brought Snape crashing back to reality. "What?" he spat. Lockhart poked his head in.  
  
"I do hope you won't mind," said the blonde brightly, "But I need these tests graded by tomorrow, and since you're not going to the ball tonight - thanks!" Lockhart shoved a stack of parchment into Snape's arms and was gone before Snape could sputter a refusal.  
  
Aghast, Snape looked at the huge pile of parchment. One hundred tests, at least! He'd never get them done in time for the ball! Muttering darkly under his breath, he was about to storm out and make Lockhart do his own work when McGonagall walked in.  
  
"Oh, good, you've got them," she said, glancing at the tests on his desk. "Thank you so much, Severus, I really appreciate it. Lockhart would never have gotten them done in time. Please have them on his desk by morning." And again, before Snape could force words out of his wide open mouth, she was gone.  
  
Snape kicked his desk furiously. It groaned, broke, and fell to the floor, scattering parchment everywhere. He kicked at the rubble again. With the Deputy Headmistress involved, there was no way he could shirk. Trust a Gryffindor to muck things up! Snape bent and gathered up the rolls of parchment, cursing the students, his fellow teachers, and the world in general under his breath. Well, if he had to grade the blasted tests, he was going to do them in his room, not down in the dungeons.  
  
Walking up the halls to his quarters, his arms full of crumpled parchment, Snape paused before a mirror on the wall and glared at his reflection. His sallow skin and hooked nose were half-hidden by long, greasy black hair. His black eyes, the only things that looked alive, glittered between the strands. Snape turned away. Who had he been fooling? No princess would ever fall in love with him. And besides, it wasn't like he had anything to wear. Black work robes, one pair of green robes for Quidditch games. Nothing fancy. Not like Lockhart.  
  
Filled with gloom and hatred, Snape pushed open his door - and promptly dropped the tests. Startled, he stepped over them and picked up the dress robes on his bed. They were black, but over the black was a pattern of delicate silver threads that glinted in the candlelight. Beneath the robes, Snape saw a silver ribbon, woven with real silver threads. The ribbon in one hand, the dress robes in the other, Snape shivered as he realized who had left these.  
  
"Great man, Dumbledore," he whispered. "Great man." 


	2. Aren't You Glad This Isn't Your Father

Estelle was bored.  
  
Beyond bored, really. Miserable. Devastated. And horrified that so many stupid men existed in the world. She shuddered as another man walked up the red carpet and bowed before her. "Your Highness," he murmured, then grabbed her hand and slobbered over it. It was all that Estelle could do to stand still until he was finished. At least he was better looking than most - wavy blonde hair and elaborate dress robes. The man straightened and winked at her cheekily. Estelle smiled dutifully.  
  
I hope somebody blasts you against a wall, she thought.  
  
Briefly, as the next one approached, she considered faking a faint. But no - her father would know what she was up to. She glanced upwards to the balcony where her father was watching. This had been his idea. Estelle fumed as she waited for the next man to bow. By Merlin's beard! She was only twenty-four years old. She wasn't exactly an old maid. She had plenty of time. But her father just kept blabbing on about grandchildren and heirs and about how she needed to get married RIGHT NOW. So here she was. Finally, as the next man reached for her hand, she gave up. There was no way she could take another minute of this. With a murmured apology to no one in particular, she yanked her hand away and swept off to the back halls.  
  
"Princess! Where are you going?" asked one of her ladies-in-waiting, hurrying over.  
  
"Bathroom," said Estelle glibly. "I need to wash my hands." It was true. After being kissed by so many men, her right hand was stiff with saliva.  
  
She didn't wait for the woman to reply, instead half-running to the restroom and slamming the door shut. Without further ado she washed her hands, then took a minute to enjoy the quiet solitude.  
  
Now it was time to put her plan into action. Estelle reached up and yanked her hairbow out, letting her golden curls fall to her waist, and stripped the elaborate gold dress off to reveal a plain, close-fitting green dress. With any luck, none of her suitors would recognize her.  
  
Estelle suddenly paused in the act of brushing her hair and frowned. Was that a motorcycle she had heard?  
  
  
  
The landing had been a bit bumpy, but otherwise everything had gone smoothly enough. Snape smirked and patted the seat of Black's flying motorcycle. It had been standing right next to Hagrid's hut, completely unguarded - he hadn't been able to resist.  
  
Snape parked the bike in the forest surrounding the castle, hiding it well in the shadows. He reached into the pocket of the dress robes and pulled out the silver ribbon. Carefully, he tied back his newly washed hair into a low ponytail.  
  
Ready to go. Snape walked confidently towards the main gate - And realized he had forgotten his invitation.  
  
Snape swore. All that trouble to get here and now he couldn't get in. Swiftly he glanced around him. Castle to left, forest to right, and a wonderfully low-lying balcony just fifty feet away.  
  
Plan B, Plan B, thought Estelle desperately. She had managed to make it through the main rooms unnoticed, but had been discovered by two of her most ardent suitors when she had reached the outdoor balcony.  
  
"Darling!" said Lord Slimee, taking her hand.  
  
"Love bug!" cried the Duke of Smellington, grabbing her arm.  
  
Help, thought Estelle.  
  
"Get off her, you pinhead, she's mine!" snarled Slimee.  
  
"No she isn't, she loves me!" shouted Smellington. Instantly Estelle found herself in the midst of a tug-o-war.  
  
"Help!" she shouted as the two men threatened to tear her apart.  
  
"Problem, gentlemen?" said an icy cold voice. The two men dropped Estelle and turned to see a dark figure drop lightly to the balcony floor. It was too dark to see his face, but he was clearly a head taller than either of them. The two gawked, then turned and ran back into the ballroom.  
  
Estelle began to awkwardly climb to her feet. The dark man caught her elbow gently and helped her up. She turned, equally ready to thank him or to run away if he recognized her.  
  
She caught her breath, startled for a moment. The stranger was certainly not handsome; thin and deathly pale, with a hooked nose and long hair caught back into a pony-tail - but he was striking. Maybe it was the way his black eyes glittered in the moonlight, or the sweeping line of those faintly elegant cheekbones.  
  
"Are you all right?" the man asked. His baritone sent shivers up and down Estelle's spine.  
  
She summoned her "royal" smile. "Yes, thank you," she said politely. There was an awkward pause, then Estelle held out her hand. "I'm, um, Essie May," she said, grasping at the first name she could think of.  
  
The man stared at her proffered hand as if he had never seen anyone shake, but then rather stiffly took it. "Severus Snape," he said. He jerked his head towards the door, where Slimee and Smellington had vanished. "Don't you hate people like them?"  
  
"Yes," said Essie, relieved to have found a topic of conversation. "They're so annoying - "  
  
"And rude - "  
  
"Presumptuous - "  
  
"Never do their share of the work - "  
  
"Exactly!" said Estelle with a laugh. A ghost of a smile traced up Snape's face. At that moment they both realized they were still holding hands, and quickly dropped them. Estelle turned out to the star-filled sky, then back to him.  
  
"Have you ever been to a Royal Ball before?" she asked.  
  
  
  
Essie May, hmm? thought Snape. She was leaning back against the railing now, talking and laughing. Snape looked her up and down with a practiced eye. She certainly did not appear rich, but there was a faint courtliness to her manner. Most likely a lady-in-waiting, taking a break from her duties.  
  
Whoever she was, a few minutes' conversation was enough to tell that she was intelligent. Snape also leaned back against the railing as they continued to talk. He was surprised; he would have thought that all of these royal court types were cretins. He was also surprised to find that he rather liked her. He was a great deal more used to hating people on first sight than liking them.  
  
Essie suddenly cocked her head at the music flowing from the open door. "Oh, my favorite," she breathed. Standing up, she twirled, her body lithe and graceful as she swayed to the music. She arched an eyebrow at him. "Don't you know how to dance?"  
  
"Not this one," said Snape hastily, but it was too late. She pulled him out onto the balcony floor and began to teach him. It was certainly complicated, but after a few moments Snape could dance it fairly well. Estelle was laughing and he was smiling as they spun about. Her body was warm against his, and he felt his heart falter as she laid her golden head briefly against his chest. Don't fall in love with her, you idiot, he told himself, gazing down his beautiful partner. Don't do it, don't -  
  
Oh, too late.  
  
The dance ended, and they came to a halt. Essie dropped onto a balcony and Snape followed suite, breathing rather heavily. That had certainly been a spirited dance. He had always wondered how royal princesses stayed in shape.  
  
He looked down at Essie, who was looking up. She did have beautiful eyes, wide and blue as a clear pool. Without realizing it he was leaning far closer than he should have, but she did not seem to mind. Their faces were almost touching -  
  
Ding-dong.  
  
The tests!  
  
Estelle saw Snape jerk away and stare up at the clock; then, in one fluid motion, he was vaulting over the balcony wall.  
  
Afraid that he was falling, Estelle reached out a hand to catch him, but it was too late. Something came away in her hand, but she did not stop to see what as she peered down at the ground. Snape was fine, standing on the ground looking up at her.  
  
"Wait!" she called out desperately.  
  
He shook his dark head and yelled up "Hogwarts!" Then he was gone. A few seconds later, Estelle heard a motorcyle starting up.  
  
Estelle turned away and sat back down on the bench, taking deep breaths. It was all right. He was gone, but she knew where he was. She could go see him tomorrow.  
  
For the first time, she looking down at the silver ribbon she was holding in her hand.  
  
"Estelle!" she heard her father roar, and turned just in time to see him and an army of advisors storm the balcony. For some reason, her father always made her think of battle maneuvers.  
  
Her huge, gray-bearded father opened his mouth to speak, but Estelle cut him off. "I found him," she said quietly.  
  
"What?" asked her father blankly, then suddenly comprehended. His stern face beamed. "Well, where is he?"  
  
"He's gone," said Estelle shortly. The smile on the king's face instantly vanished.  
  
"Well, we'll just have to find him!" he roared, then caught sight of the ribbon in her hand. He snatched it up and turned to the crowd behind him. "Whoever's hair is long enough to be tied back by this ribbon," he shouted to them, "will have my daughter's hand in marriage!"  
  
"WHAT!" shrieked Estelle. "Give me that!" She snatched the ribbon back. "Father, I know where - "  
  
"Don't worry, my dear," her father boomed. "Daddy will handle everything."  
  
"WAIT!" Estelle screamed, but her ladies-in-waiting were already carrying her off. As they carried her down the corridors to her bedroom, Estelle hung her head.  
  
It was so embarrassing to be a princess. 


	3. The Dung Beetle Strikes

"Albus, could I have a word?" asked McGonagall, poking her head into Dumbledore's office.  
  
"Certainly," was the prompt response.  
  
McGonagall came in and dropped into chair. "It's Severus, Headmaster. He's not - quite himself today."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"According to Professor Flitwick and Madame Pomfrey, he's been waltzing down the corridors and humming classical music."  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, yes. A rather common symptom of his illness, I'm afraid." Seeing McGonagall's worried face, he hastened to assure her. "It's all right, Minerva. Severus will be just fine. There's nothing to worry about."  
  
  
  
Severus hummed to himself as he put his feet up on his new desk. Amazing. Last night he'd managed to steal Black's motorcycle, meet a beautiful girl, fall in love, and return home in time to grade Lockhart's tests. Not a bad night's work, if he did say so himself.  
  
He stretched and jumped up. He felt too restless to work today, and he was hungry. He walked quickly down to the Great Hall, careful to not skip or dance. That had been embarrassing. Thank goodness the Headmaster had told him what he was doing before too many people saw.  
  
He had just sat down when a very short man dressed in very purple clothes entered the hall. The man held a trumpet to his lips, gave two shrill squawks, and began to shout in a very irritated voice.  
  
"Hear ye, hear ye - "  
  
The students had quieted down now, and everybody was listening.  
  
"Last night, the Princess' Ball was held to choose a groom for Princess Estelle. The Princess' Chosen One left before he could be introduced to the Royal Family - "  
  
I probably would have, too, thought Snape.  
  
"The man who's hair is long enough to be tied back by this," bawled the announcer, "shall be wed to the Princess." And he held up Snape's silver ribbon.  
  
Snape heard a distant crash and realized dimly that it was his goblet, which for some apparent reason had slipped out of his hand. He also heard McGonagall trying to speak to him, but he ignored her.  
  
He had talked with the princess. He had danced with the princess. He had fallen in love with a PRINCESS!!  
  
And she had fallen in love with him.  
  
"Severus, Severus, are you all right?" he could hear McGonagall saying. Still in a daze he stood up and looked down at his pumpkin juice soaked robes. Dragon dung, he couldn't look like this when Essie - Estelle - came.  
  
"Be right back," he said thickly, and staggered from the Great Hall.  
  
  
  
The students were leaving the Great Hall. Lockhart hurried over to Hermione Granger.  
  
"Ah, Miss Granger!" he said jovially. Hermione looked up and blush.  
  
"I was wondering," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "I've been wanting to try a new hairstyle for a few weeks now, and since you're the best student in the school - "  
  
"Yes, Professor?" asked Hermione, blushing even more deeply.  
  
"Could you make me a Hair-Lengthening Potion?"  
  
And hormones being what they are, Hermione agreed to her handsome professor's request without even thinking about it.  
  
  
  
"Milady?" asked one lady-in-waiting, entering the room cautiously. She walked around the room, searching for her mistress. "Milady, where are - "  
  
Bam! The frying pan connected squarely with the unfortunate lady's head, and she collapsed. Estelle stepped out of the shadows, smiling at the weapon in her hands. She'd kept it around to drive away any suitor's who felt like singing at her window, but it obviously had other uses as well.  
  
She looked down at her clothing. The pants were a little big, but they had been the best she could find. After all, who ever heard of escaping in a dress?  
  
Quickly, Estelle pushed the tied-sheet rope she'd made out of the window and began to climb down.  
  
  
  
Lockhart smoothed back his newly lengthened hair and waited. The only person so far whose hair had been long enough was Dumbledore's, but he was obviously too old. And the only other person on the staff with long hair was Snape. And it certainly couldn't be him.  
  
Or, thought Lockhart with a sudden qualm of doubt, could it be? He certainly had acted strangely when the messenger came in.  
  
"Next!" the announcer cried grumpily, and Lockhart stepped forward. Well, even if Snape was the Chosen One, it wouldn't matter. Lockhart was going to be the groom.  
  
The advisor tied the ribbon around Lockhart's wavy gold hair. "Perfect," he said in obvious relief. The students crowded around the testing area cheered, and Lockhart smiled and waved at them. Oh, yes, he was going to marry the princess -  
  
"Wait!" Snape called out, walking into the Great Hall.  
  
"Sorry, testing's over," said the man.  
  
"What?!" Snape shouted.  
  
"That's right," said Lockhart smugly. "I'm the Chosen One."  
  
Snape crossed his arms. "If you're the Chosen One," he said, "then where are your matching dress robes for the ribbon?" And he spread his arms. Lockhart stared at the silver-and-black robes and gulped.  
  
"Severus! There you are!" called out a woman at the entrance. Estelle was standing there, wearing pants and carrying, for some reason, a frying pan. Snape's heart jumped at the sight of her.  
  
"Estelle!" he cried out. The crowd parted for the princess as she walked closer, talking rapidly and waving the frying pan in disgust.  
  
"I tell you, I had the time of my life getting out of that stupid castle - I actually had to knock out one of my ladies-in-waiting!"  
  
"Princess," said Lockhart with a bow. "I am honored to greet my bride."  
  
"You? My groom? Ugh," gagged Estelle. "I'd rather marry a dung beetle."  
  
"Actually, I don't think there's much difference between the two," said Snape seriously.  
  
"Yeah, you may be right."  
  
"Well," said a desperate Lockhart, reaching out and grabbing Estelle's arm, "your father promised your hand in marriage to whoever's hair fit the ribbon, so you don't have a choice - "  
  
"Expelliarmus!" shouted Snape, and Lockhart slammed into the opposite wall. Dust rained down as Lockhart slid slowly to the floor, unconscious. The students and the staff cheered wildly.  
  
"That's why I'm resigning," said Estelle, looking at Lockhart. "I hate it when people boss me around, and for some reason it's easier when you're a princess. People always expect you to be so nice and polite."  
  
"You're resigning?" asked Snape.  
  
"Yeah, I've got plenty of cousins willing to take my place. You don't mind, do you?"  
  
For answer Snape simply pulled her close to him. And there, in the middle of Hogwarts' Great Hall and ignoring the boos from the Gryffindors, they finally kissed. 


	4. Confession of an Author

Hey, don't say I didn't warn you! I told you this was a total spoof. In the actual wizarding world, these things would not have happened:  
  
Snape would not have fallen in love with a princess.  
  
Actually Snape would not have fallen in love with anybody.  
  
And nobody would have fallen in love with him.  
  
McGonagall would not have made Snape grade Lockhart's tests.  
  
Nobody would throw a Princess' Ball.  
  
Hermione would have been far too smart for Lockhart's trick.  
  
  
  
In fact, by the Author's Personal Assessment, nobody actually acted they should have except for Dumbledore and Lockhart - especially Lockhart, who is, and will always be, a dung beetle.  
  
So, of course, none of this would have actually happened. But still, it was FUNNY. Right? Right? 


End file.
